


The One That Got Away

by angelowl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Feels, Drinking Games, F/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Secret Crush, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:53:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25765522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelowl/pseuds/angelowl
Summary: They physically collided…chests, stomachs, legs, thighs tangling indecently.“Hey, watch where you’re…Tarth?”Brienne froze in disbelief. Because no, this could not be happening.Hands that’d been pushing at her suddenly reversed course and tugged her closer, gripping her hips. Piercing eyes searched her face, not missing a thing. She swore under her breath.Jaime Fucking Lannister.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 162
Kudos: 495
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020





	The One That Got Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hillaryschu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hillaryschu/gifts).



> Thanks so much to the folks who organized the fic exchange! This was my first time participating in a fest like this and it was challenging, but a lot of fun.
> 
> I really hope you'll enjoy this fic, hillaryschu! I was inspired by your first and third prompts and hope I did them justice.

After getting her settled into her new dorm, her father got a little choked up as they said their goodbyes in the parking lot. Brienne was hardly unaffected herself. She’d never been away from home for longer than a week or two. 

He gathered her up in a tight hug. “Be good, Starlight,” he whispered before releasing her. He got into his truck and with a last wave and farewell honk, he drove off. 

She was surreptitiously wiping an errant tear from her cheek when she turned and ran headlong into someone else. 

They physically collided…chests, stomachs, legs, thighs tangling indecently. 

“Hey, watch where you’re…Tarth?”

Brienne froze in disbelief. Because no, this could not be happening.

Hands that’d been pushing at her suddenly reversed course and tugged her closer, gripping her hips. Piercing eyes searched her face, not missing a thing. She swore under her breath.

Jaime Fucking Lannister.

She was sure she looked the very picture of the weepy child who'd just been dropped off at summer camp. If anyone could accessorize forlorn, forsaken, and utterly tragic, it was Brienne. She didn't know much about fashion, but she had a strong suspicion her glassy gaze and trembling chin were what pulled it all together. Call it a hunch. 

Jaime's timing was impeccable, as always. To be fair, it was something of a specialty of his. He must have some kind of beacon that alerted him whenever her defenses were on the fritz. No doubt he'd be filing this away to use against her at a later date. 

The last time she’d seen him was graduation three months ago. The Crown Prince of King’s Landing High had been arm in arm with his longtime on-again, off-again girlfriend, Cersei Hill. They’d been the only seniors who could carry off the cap and gown aesthetic. 

Brienne herself could've been mistaken for a beastly aurochs as she lumbered across the stage to accept her diploma. She’d felt supremely ill at ease in the too small, too short gown. To make matters worse, the crimson color had looked ghastly on her. It'd washed her out, causing her skin to appear even pastier and her freckles to stand out even more than usual.

In sharp contrast, Jaime and Cersei had shone like diamonds, the hot sun overhead setting them aglow. They’d always resembled one of those nausea-inducing brother-sister couples with their matching golden hair, green eyes, and haughty disdain. It would’ve been creepy if they weren’t so beautiful in their uniformity. 

Brienne remembered the vision they’d made on that early summer day. They hadn’t let the alphabetical gods ruin their fun. No, they’d arranged it so Jaime swapped places with Hyle so he could be seated in the H section next to Cersei. As Stannis droned on with his less-than-inspiring speech, her gaze had wandered to the pair of them. 

Even from afar, Brienne had seen the way they were angled toward each other, the little asides they spared the other, the ironic twist of their mouths as they presumably mocked the middle Baratheon brother. 

Rumor was Cersei had been furious he’d beaten her out for Valedictorian. It must’ve been some small solace when she was voted Most Likely to Succeed by her peers. Her expression had certainly been smug enough in the photo in the yearbook. 

For his part, Jaime had won Best Smile by a landslide which was ridiculous because he didn’t smile. Ever. He _smirked_. 

But, of course, everyone knew ‘best smile’ was code for ‘best looking’ – a category that’d been scrapped several years back after Rhaegar Targaryen stuffed the ballot box so Lyanna Stark would win instead of Elia Martell. She'd been relieved the category had been nixed since it would’ve tickled Ron and all his cronies to vote Brienne the Beauty in for that dubious award.

At graduation Brienne had studied the golden duo in profile, two halves of one perfect whole. She had blinked and had to turn away as if she'd been blinded by them. 

In that split-second, she could see their dazzling future sprawling out in front of the pair, unfurling in a blaze of glory. College, grad school, internships, high-powered careers, marriage, 2.5 kids, vacations spent in a villa on some private island. 

No mere white picket fence for the likes of them…

“You cut your hair,” Jaime eventually said, bringing her back to the present. His thumbs slipped into her front jeans pockets as if he was trying to keep her anchored there, tethered to him. As if he was all too aware she was a serious flight risk. Every last bit of her that was pressed up against him felt hot to the touch, including her legs that were still somehow entwined with his. 

She was so used to wielding her massive size as a weapon if necessary, looking down her nose at impudent boys, that it always came as a shock to her that she couldn’t pull that sort of maneuver on Jaime. He was of a height with her, an inch shorter, if that, and his shoulders were as broad as her own. And that was to say nothing of his over-inflated ego. Truly, his arrogance knew no bounds. She couldn’t dwarf him even if she tried.

Creating distance between them would have to suffice. Brienne disentangled her limbs from his and took a step back. “Yes. I decided it was time for a change,” she replied almost defiantly as if daring him to be a dick about it. 

She’d worn her hair in a perpetual messy ponytail for years. Over the summer she’d thought lopping it all off might make her look more grown-up. 

She'd been dead wrong.

The hair stylist had wanted her to go for a trendy asymmetrical lob, but Brienne always felt ridiculous whenever she tried to do something trendy. Sensible and functional suited her just fine and were less likely to invite mockery. So she’d settled on a plain, no-nonsense bob that she could keep neat and tidy with minimal fuss.

But the day after it had been cut, she’d peered into the mirror with deep regret. Without a professional onsite to style her hair and give it body, her limp blonde strands had only seemed to accentuate her mismatched features. Her youthful, annoyingly baby-faced ones. 

In stature, she’d resembled a full grown adult for years, and a man at that, but her face still had this pernicious softness to it she’d wanted to do away with before college. But it wasn't to be.

Taken in isolation, her twice-broken nose would be at home on the face of any badass worth their salt. It was a nose that'd seen things. World-weary and street-smart. But alas, it was thwarted by a jumble of other screwy features that hadn't gotten the memo. Like the fiendish saboteurs they were, her comically big eyes and comically big mouth in concert with her propensity to blush all conspired to foil her plans. 

Jaime himself had once named her a naïve - if surly - wide-eyed innocent. 

They’d been freshmen at the time. At the start of the year a senior had invited Sansa to his party and she’d been so flattered but nervous about going, she’d begged Brienne to come along for moral support. They’d gotten separated quickly and Brienne had been huddling miserably in a corner when Jaime sidled up to her. 

“I didn’t know you were into kinky hardcore shit,” he’d said and she’d gaped at him. “Oh, didn’t Ramsay tell you? This is a blackout party.” 

When she’d continued to look blankly at him, he’d smirked. “The lights will be switched off at some point and then all bets are off. Hope you’re into bondage. Tell me, do you get off on playing the innocent schoolgirl who’s in need of a spanking? Because you’re really putting on a good show what with all the squirming and blushing. Not to mention the way you keep biting your lip all coquettish-like. A for effort.” 

She’d blushed so hotly she was sure she’d turned puce. She’d shoved him aside and dragged Sansa out of there as Jaime laughed himself hoarse. Sansa had been so angry with her that night for embarrassing her, but the next day when she heard what all that crowd had got up to at the party, she’d launched herself at Brienne and thanked her over and over again for getting her out of there. 

Later in the day Jaime had ambushed Brienne at her locker and claimed he was her knight in shining armor for tipping her off. In the process of patting himself on the back, he basically called her a stupid little twit to her face before insisting he only rescued fair maidens. And to add insult to injury, he'd had the gall to put special emphasis on ‘little’ and ‘fair.' She had point-blank refused to thank him and things had devolved from there. 

There'd been some name-calling on his part, some glowering on hers, some aggressive locker shutting that somehow didn't end the conversation even though she'd slammed it with finality. Twice. All of which had led to Jaime crooning, "What big eyes you have, Brienne, what a big mouth..." He'd leaned into her, his voice going deep and gravelly, so there could be no confusion about which of them he cast as the wolf in this scenario, despite the dialog swap.

She'd considered following the script and snarling, "The better to eat you with," before she thought it through and was struck dumb by the sexual connotations. Judging by the glint in his eye, he'd been waiting for her to do just that. He'd grinned then, satisfied she'd walked into his trap mentally even if she'd known better than to rattle off the line aloud. He'd snapped his teeth at her and she'd stormed off. 

Heading into college, Brienne had been counting on her more severe hairdo to make her look if not worldly then at least like a strong, capable woman who didn't take crap from anyone. More Big Bad Wolf, less innocent girl about to be tricked by a dastardly predator and gobbled up whole. But based on the remnants of amusement that graced Jaime’s expression, she'd sacrificed her ponytail to no avail. 

“You cut yours, too,” she said after the silence became unbearable. 

Over the last few years, Jaime had let his hair grow until his golden curls skimmed his shoulders. It’d made him look even more similar to his girlfriend. If not for his perma-smirk and general air of assholishness, he’d have passed for a bona fide Florian Doll to Cersei’s Jonquil. 

But now his hair was so short, there was nary a curl to be found and he also had some scruff as opposed to the clean-shaven look he’d preferred during high school. He'd evolved from pretty-boy to drop dead gorgeous. His fuck-me-now eyes gleamed with alarming heat and intensity. Smoldered, Margaery would say. He’d managed what Brienne hadn’t in excising the pesky youth from his visage and aging himself up.

He chuckled knowingly as he noted her appraisal of him. “You like?” he asked, raking his hand through his shorn hair before idly running it over his stubble.

She did like, not that she’d ever admit it. His chiseled jaw alone never failed to make her weak in the knees, but the addition of stubble invited her to reach out and touch. It took all of her willpower to not RSVP to his unwitting invitation. Her resolve was further tested by the criminal way his white button-up shirt set off his golden tan while clinging lovingly to his shoulders. Only a garment of clothing from Jaime's wardrobe would be such a proficient, positively lethal multi-tasker. 

It wasn’t fair that he looked like that after the better part of a day spent cooped up in a car. But then again, the Lannisters were so rich Jaime had probably forgone the roadways and taken the private jet to WU. And his father had probably hired people to deliver his belongings in advance. 

Whereas Brienne and her dad had spent the last couple hours getting everything unpacked and assembled in its rightful place, and she had the sweaty brow and ruddy complexion to show for it. And she knew the unattractive red blotchiness would’ve only become more pronounced after crashing into him. 

Not for the first time, she cursed his uncanny knack for appearing effortlessly put together. Damn him for his country club ease. Damn him from the top of his insouciant head to the bottom of his expensive loafers.

Jaime tugged on a lock of her hair before she swatted him away. “I think our new ‘dos suit us. We look so grown up and mature! So adult," he said, lying through his irritatingly perfect teeth. "Why, you’re a world away from the maniac who rear-ended me after taking offense at a harmless hand gesture just last year! Let me tell you, road rage is not a good look on anyone, but especially not on you. It clashes with your freckles.”

She bristled at that. “Are you kidding me? That’s some revisionist history right there. You cut in front of me, flipped me off, and then slammed on your brakes with absolutely no warning! Of course, I ran into you. There was nowhere else for me to go!”

“I think your memory is failing you in your dotage, Tarth,” he drawled. “College Brienne needs to sharpen up!”

She rolled her eyes. “I see the rebranding of one Jaime Lannister didn’t extend to your personality. There’s the same acerbic wit, the same signature smirk.”

“And you with the same blush. Guess it’s true what they say...the more things change, the more they stay the same, huh? And anyway, why fuck with a classic?”

“So _this_ is what detained you,” Tyrion said to his brother as he approached them. “Brienne Tarth, always a pleasure.”

She nodded at him brusquely. She’d only spoken to him twice before and both times he’d made unfunny jokes about her height. 

Tyrion was two years younger than them, but he'd run with Jaime and his crew ever since his first day of high school. She wondered if he was eager to get out from under his brother's shadow and officially begin his reign as Sole Lannister on Campus in King’s Landing or if he’d miss him as much as she bet Jaime would him. 

“Bronn just got the last of your shit unloaded and says you owe him a beer. And a giant platter of chicken wings. You should join us,” Tyrion suggested with a broad grin for her.

“Oh. No, no, I couldn’t…” Brienne racked her brain to think of a plausible excuse to decline his invitation, but came up empty.

Jaime laughed brightly, the sharp, wicked laugh that meant he was well and truly irked. “What, you have big plans, Tarth? You’re just _too busy_ to hang out with the likes of us? Did you already book a reservation in your postage stamp-sized dorm room to stare up at the ceiling all night long and cry your eyes out while you think of just how far away you are from home and how your daddy won’t be there to make you breakfast tomorrow morning?”

He was being a jerk, but he had a point. 

If he hadn’t waylaid her, she’d probably have scurried back to her room and taken to bed like a sad sack. At this very moment she'd be consumed with missing her dad and worrying about her crippling inability to make friends. Instead Jaime had crashed into her and snapped her out of her funk. 

If she followed her instincts and returned to her room to spend the rest of the night all alone, nothing but a pity party awaited her. If she went with them to dinner, however, she’d likely cycle through a five course meal of frustration, exasperation, annoyance, offense, and outrage, but that’d be infinitely preferable to bone-deep loneliness.

Besides, Jaime looked like he was two seconds away from double dog daring her to go to dinner with them and she’d never been one to back down from a challenge.

“I have to get my wallet,” she muttered sullenly.

“Don’t be silly. It’s on me,” Jaime said before seizing her by the arm to steer her toward the nearest tavern. As if he thought she’d change her mind if he let her out of his sight. Which, knowing her, was a valid assumption.

***

College was supposed to be different.

People would say, “Just wait ‘til you get to college. Everyone is more laid-back and open-minded and less cliquey. And you get to _experiment_ ,” this word always spoken in a coy, insinuating tone that made Brienne’s cheeks burn, “and explore who you are without your past defining you.” 

But her past had followed her here. Now she’d never be free of it.

Brienne the Beauty, at your service. 

One of the reasons she’d chosen Winterfell University was because it was located 1500 miles from King’s Landing. It was meant to be a fresh start. When she’d applied there, she’d imagined herself up north in the snow, a stranger in a strange land. She’d been nervous, but also excited at the prospect of venturing so far away from home. 

WU was universally regarded as a serious, academically rigorous institution, distinguished and austere. Which begged the question – What in the seven hells was Jaime doing here?

Winter hadn’t come yet, but it was just around the corner. There was already a chill in the air. Brienne belonged in this cold, harsh place bundled up under layers of fleece and wool. Jaime, on the other hand, belonged in his swim trunks on a beach in the south.

If she remembered correctly, she’d thought she heard he was planning to attend Casterly Rock with Cersei, but when she tried to broach the topic during their brief walk to the tavern, he’d shifted uneasily and simply said he’d changed his mind. 

From the way Tyrion glanced at his brother, she could only assume he and Cersei must’ve broken up for the hundredth time. Which meant there was a solid chance they’d reconcile by winter break and he’d be transferring back out by the next semester.

The Smoking Log was a rundown tavern that had seen better days, but the food was warm and filling so Brienne couldn’t complain. They were seated at a booth, Jaime and she on one side, Tyrion and Bronn on the other. The only problem was Jaime’s elbow kept brushing hers and their knees kept bumping under the table. 

The legal drinking age was lower in the north than it was in the south which had probably served as a bonus incentive for Tyrion and Bronn’s assistance that day. 

They went straight for the hard liquor. Brienne stuck with beer since her dad had let her share a pint with him on game days so she knew she could handle it without embarrassing herself, especially if she didn’t drink on an empty stomach.

After Brienne had given an abbreviated recap of her arduous journey up to Winterfell, notably featuring her dad belting out Mance Rayder tunes at the top of his lungs, Jaime had confessed in an offhand, careless way that his father was far too important a man to concern himself with such insignificant matters as seeing his eldest son off to college. Fortunately, Jaime had the foresight to bribe his little brother and his mercenary pal to pitch in and help him move his shit. They all toasted to that.

What followed was a preview of what orientation would be like come Monday morning. A bawdy, X-rated version, but it still ticked the boxes of playing stupid, inane games that were designed to break the ice, the kind that usually only succeeded in making her feel more awkward and tongue-tied. 

Drinking games were foreign to Brienne which the trio thought was: "Unheard of! How is that possible, _how_?" Tyrion squawked. “Fookin' hilarious,” Bronn said. “Endearing as fuck, but subject to change tonight,” Jaime pronounced with obvious merriment.

“Yes, in this day in age, such innocence has gone the way of the dragon, but watch out, I promise you we will corrupt you before the night is through,” Tyrion warned her with a waggle of his brows. 

Their laughter was at her expense, but somehow it didn’t come across as mean-spirited so she tried to see the humor in her inexperience and not take it so personally.

They kicked things off with Never Have I Ever. Which was hardly fair since Brienne had _not_ done _so_ many things in her 18 years of life. In some ways she felt like her entire life up until then had been defined more by all the experiences she hadn’t had than the measly few she had. She wiped the floor with them. Handily. And was horrified by some of the things they admitted to having done. Especially Bronn.

The lot of them were skinny-dipping, wedding-crashing, fake ID-having, binge-drinking, acid-dropping, honor code-breaking, shop-lifting degenerates. With a nasty penchant for pirating movies, forgetting to recycle, and racking up speeding tickets they neglected to pay. And the less said about Tyrion and Bronn's obscene sexcapades, the better.

Beer Pong was next and Brienne excelled at it. She had great hand-eye coordination and when partnered with the equally adept, competitive Jaime, they were an unstoppable force. They dominated, crushing not just Tyrion and Bronn, but several other doomed duos who'd popped in for a nightcap. 

Stone Men was a breeze. At least at first. Out of self-preservation she’d learned to repress her emotions and blank her expression from a young age. Her poker face was impressive. But when they ganged up on her and argued that blushing should count as surely as cracking a smile, she had to drink after she read a few of the racier lines they’d scrawled on slips of paper aloud.

No One was almost her downfall. But after the third time of lifting her head from the table and meeting Jaime’s twinkling gaze, of Jaime purring "valar morghulis" and Brienne defeatedly responding "valar dohaeris" then both of them having to take a shot, it occurred to her to just look at someone else. Literally, anybody else. It was harder than it sounded. He was very distracting, very disarming. He'd have made a fine assassin.

Brienne rebounded with Three-Eyed Raven since she had a flair for memorization. Each round she hung in there valiantly, going toe to toe with Tyrion, who kept tapping his forehead and boasting in a slurred voice that his mind was a steel trap. Jaime steadied his brother when he lost his balance and the sheer dopey fondness in the mock-grimaces they exchanged was enough to make her wish she had a sibling. 

As they played, she couldn't help noticing that Jaime had scooted closer to her. His thigh was currently pressed against hers and he kept touching her, his palm lightly skimming her shoulder and back. Nudging her like they were friends. 

All evening he'd been making a visible effort to make her feel included and welcome. Every time Tyrion or Bronn went too far and said something so vulgar she blanched, Jaime swiftly redirected the conversation. And when she excused herself to use the bathroom, he'd leaped to his feet as if he were a gentleman from a bygone era. 

His behavior was mystifying, to say the least. 

She was just shy of tipsy as they ventured into something called - The One That Got Away – which she soon discovered wasn’t so much a game as a mournful lament.

Tyrion became quite maudlin as he waxed poetic about a teacher he’d had, Miss Tysha Silverfist. She was twenty years older than him and only thought of him as a kid, but according to Tyrion, she was his soulmate.

Brienne knew better than to quibble that Tysha hadn’t ‘got away’ so much as she was never his to begin with. And for good reason. She would have had to contact the authorities if it were otherwise. Brienne of all people was well-acquainted with unrequited love and how fantasies of what-could-have-been could feel more real than what-never-was. People without exes to their name could still mourn the loss of a dream they’d had for their future.

When Tyrion looked close to tears, she leaned in toward Jaime to voice her concern about the pair opposite them being in any fit state to drive. But he assured her that there’d be a town car waiting to convey their drunk asses to a hotel later that night. The perks of having your very own personal chauffeur at your beck and call.

Bronn belched and then smacked his lips together. “Lollys Stokeworth. She was so out of my league, but smoking hot with huge tits,” he declared, shaping breasts in the air with his hands as if to illustrate his point.

Tyrion squinted at him. “But at least you got to fuck her,” he said accusatorily.

“Well, yeah. She slummed it with me. Just the once. Er, twice. Two and a half times, if you want to get technical about it. But I sure as shit didn’t get the keys to the castle like I’d planned.”

Tyrion threw a fry at him. Bronn caught it in his teeth and made a big production of chewing it with his mouth open for maximum grossness. After he swallowed, they both swiveled to focus on Jaime.

“Your turn. And don’t scrimp on the details,” Tyrion demanded of his brother.

Jaime wasn’t as inebriated as either of them. There was a slight flush to his cheeks, though, and he seemed a little more relaxed than usual, his body loose as his arm stretched out to rest behind Brienne.

She felt a tendril of warmth curl low in her belly, but understood the world and her place in it far too well to read too much into it. Besides, she knew what was coming next. She’d have to be an idiot not to.

Cersei Hill. 

Barring her, the whole concept of ‘the one that got away’ would never even apply to someone like Jaime. If he’d ever set his sights on anyone else, they’d have been his in a flash and continued to be so until their dying day. 

Nobody was immune to the spell Jaime cast. Nobody. 

He was like radiant goddamn sunshine making flowers bloom wherever he went, and by ‘flowers,’ she meant lust, love, and everything in between. Brienne had witnessed enough supposedly straight guys at school give Jaime the once-over and jockey to be the one in his favor. Even if it were some forbidden May-December romance where he’d pined for a teacher like his brother had, they’d have fucked him on the principal’s desk if he’d only asked and risked jail time just to wine and dine him. He was _that_ irresistible.

But Cersei…Cersei had him wrapped around her little finger. She reeled him in only to push him away each year, but she never let him stray too far. And she wouldn’t this time either. Brienne had faith she’d tug him back into her orbit soon enough.

Brienne braced herself for the inevitable recitation of Jaime singing Cersei’s praises. She could already guess the litany…she’s beautiful and sexy, smart and confident, ambitious and driven. She goes after what she wants, never asks for permission. She’s gutsy and capable and lives life on her own terms. 

All of that was just a diplomatic way of saying…she’s beautiful, but cruel. Callous. Selfish. Controlling. Manipulative. Venomous. She shows no mercy and doesn’t let silly things like scruples trip her up. She’s a force of nature so get out of her path or she’ll destroy you.

“My girl who got away is reserved, but fierce,” he said slowly. “She’s like the ocean. Calm waters concealing riptides. I love nothing more than to rile her up just to see her spine straighten, her chin jut out, her eyes flash. She’s so earnestly good, but not a hypocrite about it like others who claim to remain above the fray. She has principles and she lives by them. She’s true to her word. Always. She’s unlike anyone else I’ve ever met. Singular.”

Brienne felt like she’d lost the thread. Aside from the bit about the fatal riptides, his description didn’t exactly bring Cersei to mind. She was a lot of things, but reserved? Earnest? Good? Principled? None of that was in her repertoire.

Jaime drummed his fingers on the table and turned to catch her gaze. “She was on the track team. I drove to every meet just to see her run. My heart thrilled at the sight of her flying down the track, her long, powerful legs pumping. Her ponytail streaming after her in the wind. Her eyes calm, determined. Never desperate. Always blue.” 

Blue eyes, not green, someone on the track team, all of which thankfully meant this wasn’t some case of Jaime being deluded enough to reimagine his villainous ex as the sweet heroine with a heart of gold.

There was such admiration in his voice, it took her breath away. She was sure she’d never heard Jaime speak of anyone the way he was this mystery girl. And the intent look on his face was…compelling.

“It was a high like none other watching her sail across the finish line, crushing the competition. It was as exhilarating as when I scored a winning touchdown.” 

He was peering at her meaningfully now and she began to see where he was going with this and why he was directing his rhapsodic musings toward her. He’d pined for a teammate of hers and he was clearly hoping she’d put in a good word for him with the girl in question.

Brienne had noticed him at their meets. Of course, she had. She recalled wondering why Jaime Lannister of all people was always in attendance. Had he been struck in the head with one of Cersei’s pompons and inexplicably overcome with school spirit? 

There were a few boys who came just to ogle the female form in shorts and tank tops, but she’d never gotten that vibe from Jaime. He was a flirt, but not sleazy in that kind of way. 

Each week he’d sit in the stands with Grey who was there to support his girlfriend, Missandei. She’d assumed he was keeping his buddy company and that as a fellow athlete with an ultra-competitive bent, he’d gotten caught up in rooting for the team. After all, they were an impressive, record-setting bunch. 

“She never gave me the time of day. She was so shy, though, I couldn't tell if she was oblivious to my feelings or if she just wasn’t interested and was too polite to say so.” There was a conspiratorial quality to his voice now, his tone softening as if they were sharing a secret. And she supposed that was precisely what was happening. He was confiding in her, giving her just enough information to make the right deduction.

A veritable goody two shoes. With long legs, a ponytail, and blue eyes. On the track team. Who was shy.

It certainly narrowed it down. Ygritte was too loud. Dany too short. Margaery had brown eyes, Missy gold. And the rest were ponytail-averse.

There was only one girl left who fit the bill.

Sansa Stark.

Personally, Brienne had never really thought of Sansa as shy, but maybe to a guy she wasn’t close to, her cool, self-contained manner would lend itself to that interpretation. It wouldn’t be the first time an extrovert made the mistake of confusing introversion with shyness. All the rest fit her to a T.

Plus there’d always been bad blood between the Starks and Lannisters so it stood to reason that even if Cersei hadn’t been in the picture, Jaime might’ve been wary about making a move. Tywin Lannister was a ruthless businessman who would never have approved of his heir becoming involved with the eldest Stark girl. And after what he did to the Reynes, it wasn’t a stretch to fear what lengths he'd go to in order to keep them apart. He would’ve considered it his duty to foil any unwise match his son pursued.

The funny thing was she and Sansa had swooned over countless films about star-crossed love affairs. True love conquering all, challenging ingrained long-held prejudices, inspiring rebellion and sacrifice…what could be better than that? Little did they know that Sansa could’ve been starring in her very own fairy tale if only her secret admirer hadn’t remained hidden in the shadows.

Brienne wanted to laugh even though her stomach gave a queer lurch at her revelation.

Of course, it all made sense now. Why Jaime had given her that warning at the party freshman year so Sansa wouldn’t be targeted by that sadist Ramsay. Why he’d followed their track meets all throughout high school. Why he’d fled to Winterfell University after calling it quits with Cersei. Even why he’d played nice over dinner. Sucking up to the ugly best friend to get in good with the pretty girl was a smart move.

There was only one problem with his scheme.

Brienne cleared her throat. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to break it to you, but Sansa changed her mind about coming to Winterfell last month. She decided to take a gap year.”

Jaime seemed to reel at her announcement. His shoulders stiffened and he looked shell-shocked, his expression freezing on the spot. 

She could relate to his disappointment. After both girls had been accepted to WU, Brienne had looked forward to rooming with Sansa. She'd breathed a sigh of relief that there'd be one familiar face on campus so far away from home. It’d stung when Sansa backed out so close to the start of the school year. She could only imagine what a gut punch it’d be for Jaime to have come all this way only to be told his dream girl was a no-show. 

Across the table Bronn snorted and Tyrion choked on his whiskey as he began to guffaw. 

Apparently Jaime chasing a girl to university who was missing in action was the height of hilarity to them. It was just so entertaining, was it not, that he’d cozied up to Brienne all evening for no reason, as it turned out? What a waste of time. And the kicker was that now he was stranded up north where the only person he knew was a great beast of a girl for company. What a laugh.

At least she’d broken the news to him tonight so he could abort the mission before the semester even began. He could pack his stuff back up and go home with his brother, reevaluate his future. Maybe elect to take a gap year of his own or get his dad to pull some strings so he could join Cersei at Casterly Rock after all.

A lump formed in her throat at the thought. She felt bereft...which was ridiculous. She folded her napkin with care, placed it primly on her plate then stood. She hardly knew what excuses fell from her lips as she mumbled something before making a hasty exit.

As she spun around to leave, she faintly heard Tyrion’s wry voice rise above the din. “Well, I guess that answers your question, bro. Oblivious it is!”

***

She’d barely made it out the door of the tavern before Jaime caught up with her.

“Hold up, I’m coming with. It’s late,” he said, falling into step with her.

“I can take care of myself,” she assured him in clipped tones.

“No shit, it’s that scary competence and general badassery that I’m counting on! I’m a little buzzed and could use your assistance in finding my way safely back to the dorm. I’m liable to end up in a ditch elsewise.”

Brienne refused to meet his gaze. She just kept staring straight ahead as they hooked a right toward campus. 

“So…you never took your turn. Who’s the one that got away?”

She increased her pace, furious that he was putting her on the spot.

“C’mon, Tarth. Don’t leave me hanging…” he said in that low, teasing drawl that inevitably compelled people to do his bidding.

It had rather the opposite effect on Brienne who was in no mood to be trifled with tonight. His wheedling only managed to grate on her nerves.

“I don’t have any exes,” she reminded him curtly. “Ergo nobody ‘got away’ from me. And don’t make some obnoxious joke about how any guy would be dying to get away from me if only given the chance.”

“You’re taking it too literally. My one that got away was hardly an ex of mine. And Miss Tysha was certainly never Tyrion’s. You must have had a crush on someone at some point that was doomed. Or are you just a self-cleaning oven who has evolved beyond the need for attraction and companionship?”

“Asexuality is a thing, look it up." Brienne tried not to outwardly react when he suddenly edged closer to her, leaning into her space, as they waited for the pedestrian signal to let them cross at the intersection.

Jaime tilted his head and fixed her with a knowing stare. “But that’s not you."

What a presumptuous bastard! The confidence with which he spoke about her was galling yet intriguing in equal measure. “How can you be so sure?”

He laughed. “I saw your face the day the boys’ swim team did a strip-tease at Ygritte’s party two summers ago. Your eyes were glazed over with lust and you were blushing so hard you looked like you'd been _scalded_ so don’t play coy with me, Brienne.”

She straightened up to her full height, positively vibrating with indignance. “I’ll not be the punch line for your joke!” 

“Who’s joking? Are we at improv practice? Do you see a career in stand-up comedy in either of our futures? Shit, I thought we were just getting to know each other. You got a front-row seat to my woeful tale of unrequited love. Turnabout’s fair play!”

The signal changed and Brienne took off like a rocket across the street. Jaime almost had to jog to keep up with her. When he drew abreast of her on the deserted sidewalk, she relented. 

“That’s different," she pointed out, not a little resentful. "You can afford to wear your vulnerability like a badge of honor. Being rejected once in a blue moon is a feature, not a bug, for guys like you. Feel free to pine away for some fresh-faced stunner because 9 times out of 10 you’ll get the girl in the end and on the rare occasion you strike out, your heartbreak will only serve to make you more accessible to the average Jon." 

Jaime's lip curled. “ _Guys like me_? There are no guys like me! And what of girls like you?”

“Don’t do that,” she spat. “Don’t pretend. I know sometimes people think pretending not to understand my… _situation_ is a kindness. I can assure you, it’s not. Your feigned incomprehension only puts me in the position of having to either pretend along with you that we live in a make-believe world where beauty comes from within or spell out my own shortcomings. Either way, it’s cruel.” 

Oh, how she hated that expression – _beauty comes from within_. Even if it were true, she’d still be out of luck, for there was not even a glimmer of a sparkling personality hiding beneath her unsightly visage. She wasn’t a bad person, she knew, but there was nothing so impressive about her character that’d offset her unfortunate looks. She wasn’t particularly clever or funny or interesting. 

Brienne worked hard to get where she was. None of it came naturally to her. She put in extra hours studying to get the grades she did, extra hours at the track and in the weight room to stay competitive. She was loyal and she tried to be a good friend, but she was so socially awkward that she tended to struggle with knowing what to say and how to say it in conversation. And on top of that, her brusque manner often made her come across as cold and abrasive. So she was under no illusion that if her exterior suddenly matched her interior, there’d be some wondrous, cathartic transformation. It’d only earn her a slight upgrade, if that.

Jaime furrowed his brow. “Wait, you think you don’t get to like anyone? Or admit it?” 

“I know I don’t," she said, staring him down. "Girls like me don’t get to openly have crushes unless it’s all an elaborate set-up for some humiliating jest. Gee, why would I clam up when I could spill my guts so you can mock Brienne the Beauty for having a heart and a libido?” 

“I would never do that,” he said quietly, wrapping his hand around her upper arm.

“But it’s hilarious, isn’t it? Isn’t it just a laugh riot that a freak like me would want anyone and think I could be wanted in return? Or is it just sad, worthy of pity? Pathetic. You tell me, Jaime.”

They’d reached the entrance to the dorm. His hand slid down to her wrist and his thumb fluttered over her pulse. Tears blurred her vision and she cringed at how embarrassingly choked her voice had become.

“Brienne,” he murmured and she shook her head, letting him know she didn’t actually want him to respond. She couldn’t bear to hear him try to be _nice_ , of all things.

She thought of Margaery holding court in the locker room last year, recounting her scandalous summer vacation. When she'd revealed that her seduction of the rakish pool boy had involved waiting for him in his cabana in nothing but a whipped cream teddy, her rapt audience had all gasped and giggled, in awe of her daring. Even at the time it'd occurred to Brienne that the story would’ve elicited a very different reaction if she'd been the one telling it. 

Desire wasn’t for a girl built like her. Instead it was this mortifying, cringing thing. This minefield that she’d spent her entire life learning to navigate.

One of her first lessons came at age 13 when she’d tried to anonymously sneak a carnation into Renly’s locker for Maiden’s Day.

He'd been a year younger than her, but you wouldn't have known it to look at him. He was cute, confident, and outgoing, and hung out with a lot of the older kids. 

Someone must’ve spotted her because everyone laughed about it for the rest of the day. Renly had pulled her aside at lunch and politely informed her that he was flattered, but that he just didn’t feel that way about her. She’d nodded haltingly and then fled to the bathroom in tears.

After school she'd overheard him make fun of her with his friends. He’d sounded so ashamed and disgusted and scornful at the notion that she liked him in that way. What he'd said had haunted her for years to come.

Up until then she'd been largely invisible to her classmates, but suddenly she was in their crosshairs and they didn't miss their shot. Snipers, every last one of them. 

The girls had mused that Brienne's hair was too brittle to be real. "Surely, she must be wearing a wig made out of straw." "How fashion-forward of her!" 

"And that mouth...I'd suspect botched lip fillers, but I don't think she can afford it." "They're almost obscene, aren't they? All angry and swollen." "Like she was stung by a thousand bees or punched in the kisser so her busted nose wouldn't feel left out."

The boys had gotten in on the action, too. Her freckles weren't a blessing from the gods as her father had said, mapping her flesh with a constellation of stars. No, she was nothing but a great dumb albino cow in a pasture who'd been splattered with mud. Just nature's way of trying to shield them all from her ugly mug. 

"Holy fuck, can you imagine Brienne the Beauty mud-wrestling? Her hulking form in a string bikini as she rolls around in filth?" "Screw you! Why would you put that image in my head?" Gagging noises ensued. "That's something you'd _never_ be able to unsee. You'd need a shit-ton of therapy to process the trauma." 

"And her teeth, by the Seven, her teeth, they'd be the envy of Balerion the Black Dread!" "Well, she may have the mouth of a natural born cocksucker, but I wouldn't want those chompers anywhere near my dick!" They'd all howled then, Renly loudest of all.

"Who wants to lay odds that she can trace her lineage back to Wun Wun?" Brienne had glanced around the corner and seen Loras making a muscleman pose, flexing his biceps before theatrically stomping around with heavy thuds. A few of the boys had jolted at his every movement as if weathering impact tremors. A couple girls had skittered away from him playfully, lest the evil giant trample them. "I mean, who else could she have inherited her hideously gargantuan dimensions from?"

"Wild aurochs? Sorry, bestiality just doesn't do it for me," Renly had snarked. He'd paused for effect then huffed a laugh. "You hear about apple and pear body shapes, and hourglass ones, of course, but never about grotesque freaks who resemble weirwood trees come to life. Bone-white massive trunk of a body, thick gnarled branches and roots for arms and legs, gloomy eyes oozing gunk...and a face only the Children of the Forest could love."

She'd slapped a hand over her mouth, whether it was to muffle a sob or to stave off vomiting, she'd hardly known. There'd been a ringing in her ears as if she'd just survived a bomb blast...and hadn't she, though? After she got herself under control, she'd run all the way home. Her dad had still been at work so she'd curled up on her bed, hugged a pillow to her chest, and wept so violently she almost passed out.

She’d learned a lot that day. Not just that she’d be mocked for having the audacity to be big and ugly and still want a boyfriend, but that her crush would be sideswiped, too. And that to save his reputation, he’d have to blatantly distance himself from her. Declare how revolting, how outrageous the very idea was. Emphatically insist he’d never go for her in a million years.

Not that she doubted for a second that Renly had been honest in his contempt for her, but the vehemence of his denials would not have been necessary if she were a normal girl whose feelings had simply been unreciprocated. That girl would've deserved kindness tinged with a whiff of pity, perhaps. Sympathy. Not the nastiness she'd been dealt. It was the taint her affection carried that'd caused him to cut her down so vociferously in public.

That night she'd wished she could magically wave a wand and wake up pretty and petite, but in the absence of such wizardry, she'd comforted herself with the thought that she could modify her own behavior in the future to prevent at least some of the abuse she’d suffered that week. 

When she got on the school bus the next morning, she'd imagined a suit of armor encasing her from head to toe, rendering her invulnerable.

She remembered thinking if she just stuffed all of her softness, all of her feelings, her hopes, her dreams way down deep, no vicious word or dirty look could touch her ever again. As it happened, in spite of the walls erected around her fragile heart, cruelty did still graze her in the intervening years, but it never scarred her the way that first lashing had.

Brienne hadn’t dreamed of Renly again. She hadn’t dreamed of anyone for years. Until one night she dreamt of a boy who lived to defy expectations, who was incongruously rude to her face yet surprisingly decent behind her back. 

The memory of Jaime looming over a battered and bruised Ron Connington in the cafeteria, his jaw clenched and his knuckles bloody, had followed her into her sleep. He'd become a nightly visitor after that. Sometimes he was her savior, her protector, and sometimes she was his, but either way, the dream always ended with him taking her into his arms and kissing her senseless. 

It was a fantasy she'd kept under lock and key and never even contemplated in the light of day, for fear he would somehow _know_ and dash this last spark of joy she’d greedily guarded close to her heart.

“You wouldn’t understand about having to hide what you think or what you feel because the world decreed you should live your life in black and white instead of color,” she finally said.

He shifted his weight and then looked up at the stars. “Maybe I would understand. Cersei claimed me when we first met in elementary school. For a long time, there was no room for anyone else. No space for what I wanted, who I wanted, if it wasn’t her alone,” he said carefully. “I was happy with that until I wasn’t. And then it was too late. Any time I thought I could be something different, something more, she reeled me back in, cut off my escape route. Until now. 

“I was _never_ going to Casterly Rock. That was just what Cersei told everyone. I came to Winterfell because..." He paused and his thumb stroked her wrist again. "Well, because I knew she wouldn't be caught dead north of the Twins, for one. Father’s just relieved I didn’t jet off to a party school like he’d feared and that I’m, in his words, finally buckling down and committing to my studies as befits my role as heir apparent.

“Up until the very last minute, I think Cersei really did believe I’d upend my plans and follow her to university with my tail tucked between my legs. Like some disobedient pup who'd seen the error of his ways. Even after she’d made it crystal clear that she refused to be saddled with her high school boyfriend for the next four years and that college was for spreading her wings...and thighs.”

His mouth twisted sardonically then he met her gaze. He shrugged and held the door for her to precede him inside.

It'd been public knowledge how tempestuous their relationship had been over the years, but Brienne hadn't realized it'd become quite so toxic. She was even more surprised he'd opened up to her about it. She figured the least she could do was bite the bullet and finish the game. Call it even. 

She fiddled with her sleeve. “My one who got away was handsome and athletic and clever. He had this magnetic pull…this way of drawing people to him. Charisma, I guess is what you’d call it. He could be strangely arrogant and self-deprecating by turns. Gregarious one moment and prickly the next. All part of his charm, I suppose,” she said dryly. She was walking a fine line, but she thought she’d kept it vague enough while still giving an accurate description. “He could have had anyone. I know he didn’t think of me like that. Not the way I did him. Obviously. But that didn’t matter. Maybe the dream was better than reality since it couldn’t be ruined that way.” 

Jaime ushered her into the elevator, looking disgruntled. “Renly may have been low-key charming at times, but he was _not_ charismatic _or_ clever. You give him far too much credit. You always have. He’s an ass, plain and simple.”

“I wasn’t talking about Renly,” she admitted softly and felt his gaze searing into the side of her face as he turned to study her. 

She thanked her lucky stars Jaime had never learned the ugly truth about what had transpired with Renly on Maiden's Day way back when. He'd been abroad at some family function at the time and the rumor mill had moved on by the time he returned. As satisfying as it would've been to see him beat the shit out of Renly the way he had Ron, it could've just as easily gone the other way with him laughing along at her foolishness or worse, him pitying her. 

The elevator doors closed and she bit her lip. “I’m sorry about Sansa. Truly. I think you two might’ve hit it off. Maybe it can still work out in time…”

“For fuck’s sake, Brienne, it’s not Sansa, it’s you!” he growled. “ _You’re_ the one who got away. _You’re_ the one I followed up here to freeze my balls off!”

It took her a minute to process what he said, but when she did, she rocked backward on her heels. Fury lit her up. How dare he mock her like this!

When the elevator opened on the 4th floor, she rushed out, already rummaging through her bag to find her key as Jaime called out to her from behind.

He chased after her down the hallway and when she reached her room, he seized her by the elbow and spun her around to face him.

“You always wore blue checkered socks for the 100 m, pink for the 200 m. You bit your lip when you were nervous, tugged on your ponytail when you didn’t know what to say. You twirled your pen around your thumb whenever you were daydreaming during class. You always knew the answer when the teacher called on you, but you'd stumble over your words so people underestimated you. You hunched your shoulders and tried to make yourself smaller when assholes were hassling you, but you’d throw hands if any of them dared try to bully someone else. You'd refuse to strip down to your bathing suit at pool parties, but that one time that scrawny freshman began to drown, you dived in after him, graceful as anything, and scooped him out while we all just stood there gaping." 

The rapid flurry of memories left Brienne nearly breathless. How did he know _any_ of that? Had he been tasked with hosting a trivia night devoted entirely to minutiae about her? 

"You looked like a fucking goddess when you emerged from the pool, all brave and noble and true," he added. "You were _magnificent_ as you snapped at Addam to get a towel for the kid and reamed Theon out since he was supposed to be on lifeguard duty that day. I couldn't look away as you towered over us with righteous indignation, rivulets of water cascading down your body. Fuck, Brienne, I've been infatuated with you for years!” 

She felt dizzy, disoriented. Everything was spinning, everything except Jaime. 

This had to be a prank, didn’t it? A stunt of some kind? Had there been enough of a lag between her exit from the tavern and his for them to have cooked something like this up? Were Tyrion and Bronn lurking around the corner just waiting to spring out at her and snicker the moment she fell for their ruse? 

But the look on Jaime's face didn't seem false and his words...they hadn't rung hollow. 

And duplicity wasn't in his nature, was it? Jaime was forthright, if nothing else. If he had something to say, he'd say it to your face. If he wanted to destroy you, he'd confront you head on. He'd consider it unsportsmanlike to engage in diabolical mind games, the purview of pathetic limp-dicks like Ron. 

Jaime could not abide cowardice. As Ron had discovered, to his detriment. 

He'd pretended to like her for weeks junior year only to dedicate a song to her at the school's karaoke night, announcing "This one’s for you, Brienne," before launching into a shit-eating rendition of My Funny Valentine. 

He only made it to ‘your looks are laughable, unphotographable’ before half the track team charged him, grabbed the microphone, and hustled him off the stage. Brienne had been mortified beyond belief. The next day Jaime had laid him out flat. 

She'd only come in at the end of the altercation in the cafeteria, but she'd never forget the blind rage on Jaime's face or the utter fright on Ron's. Usually if a fight broke out on campus, kids would gather around and cheer them on, but it'd been different this time. Everyone had frozen in place and a deathly hush had fallen over them as if they were terrified of saying or doing anything that might incur his wrath, too. 

So no, it strained credibility that Jaime would seek to toy with someone in such a malicious, underhanded manner. He wouldn't do that, not to her, not to anyone. 

Which could only mean...

Jaime took a step closer to her, his eyes bright and imploring.

“Remember that day in 8th grade when cranky, old, Go-to-Hell-Roelle made all the girls string beads and shit?” he asked. 

Of course, she remembered. Brienne had been pressed into service along with the other girls at the arts and crafts table while the boys got to shoot hoops all period. Roelle never met a gender stereotype she didn’t want to jam down her students’ throats. 

“The day you gave me your bracelet?” he continued blithely.

“I didn’t _give_ it to you! You _stole_ it!” she reminded him, off-kilter and testy, clawing for some kind of equilibrium. 

At Roelle’s directive, all the girls had chosen a special boy to give their favor to, but Brienne had learned her lesson after the humiliating incident with Renly the previous year. She’d fastened the bracelet around her own wrist and called it a day. But then Jaime had approached her after class. 

He’d been bare-wristed because Cersei had dumped him recently and none of the other girls would risk her ire by trying to stake a claim on the golden boy. Otherwise, he’d have been swimming in bracelets from shoulder to wrist. 

Jaime had reached out and idly thumbed her bracelet before tugging it off. “Looks like an ocean wave,” he’d said of the strand of beads she’d sequentially strung from the palest baby blue to deep azure. Then he’d slipped it onto his own wrist without a by-your-leave.

Brienne had been too flustered to say anything before he sauntered off, appearing far too pleased with himself.

He’d worn it the rest of the school day until Cersei had screamed bloody murder at him in the parking lot and snapped the band so all the beads exploded onto the wet pavement. 

Brienne had felt a slight pang and turned away from the scene, uninterested in seeing how satisfied Jaime would look at having inspired such an outburst of jealousy. That’d been the point of modeling her bracelet so proudly after all, hadn’t it? 

“I remember it ended up in a muddy puddle,” she said flatly. “Not that it mattered. It’d achieved its purpose. You’d worn it to spite Cersei and you succeeded.”

“It mattered to me,” he said and reached into his pocket and produced a blue bead. “I fished it out of the puddle. Held onto it all this time. It’s served me well as a good luck charm. Maybe you could hold onto it for me this year and it could do the same for you…”

He handed it to her and she shivered a bit when their fingers brushed. 

A revelatory tsunami washed over her... 

Absurd as it sounded, he’d meant what he said. 

He liked her, respected her, _admired_ her even. Thought she was fierce and brave, noble and true. Magnificent.

He’d driven to every track meet just to see her run. He’d noticed her eyes and her legs…named them blue and calm, long and powerful. 

He’d worn her favor in middle school and when it was torn asunder, he’d salvaged a single, solitary bead to remember her by.

And he’d come north this year at least in part for her. 

It was too much to take in.

Jaime turned to go, but glanced back over his shoulder as he moved toward the elevator. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

She nodded, her eyes wide with wonder and dawning hope, and then he smiled. A genuine smile, not a hint of his trademark smirk. Proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d undeniably deserved that Best Smile award after all. 

His eyes were agleam, soft with affection, and his lips curved upward gently. The overall effect was devastating. Enough to bring her to her knees. 

“You’re not just the one that got away. You’re the one. Period,” he said gruffly before stepping into the elevator.

Her chin wobbled as she tucked the bead in her pocket for safe-keeping. 

He'd compared her to the ocean before. But if she were the sea, he was the storm on the horizon. Churning up all her emotions and wreaking havoc on her composure. 

He made her feel alive.

Brienne summoned all her courage and called out to him. "Hey, Jaime, do you see what I mean now about your charisma? You should have it registered as a deadly weapon."

As the elevator doors closed, his arm shot out at the last second. When they reopened, he stalked off the elevator, took her face in his hands and kissed her. 

And her dreams? It turned out they couldn't hold a candle to reality.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts filled: 1. Accidental reunion and 2. Character A admits that they're in love with someone and character B doesn't realize that they're talking about them. Character B doesn't realize they're talking about them because the person character A is describing sounds so wonderful and amazing that it just can't be them.


End file.
